Dream House

by Stephanie Fournet

  On Tuesday when I came in and found her in the mudroom folding Tyler’s clothes, I asked her if we could talk about the possibility of extending my lease through graduation in May, she waved me off and said we didn’t need to talk. She’d send me an email with a new lease agreement and I could sign it electronically. I left her then. The space felt too small, or I felt too big and oafish for it.

  I look back at Livy. Her eyes are once again tracking across the page, but I know she hasn’t dropped the thread of our conversation.

  “You don’t think she’s avoiding me?”

  “Oh, she’s avoiding you, all right.”

  Shit.

  Yes, I’m attracted to Stella. It took that exchange outside her bedroom for me to realize that it’s probably obvious.

  “I guess I need to get a grip.” Watching Stella rush to the sink or beat a hasty exit when I enter a room feels like a fresh kick in the groin every time. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

  I won’t cross a line, and I need her to know it.

  I can recognize that she’s beautiful, and know that my eyes search for her every time I come downstairs. I can remember the buzz I got when she asked me about the salt mines and when she watched me with Lola. Like carbonated blood coursed through my veins. I can feel the delicious softness of her palm and the way the chunk of turbite held her heat for a few sweet seconds.

  I can eat the breakfasts she makes for us and taste gratitude and awe for all she does.

  And I can leave her the hell alone.

  “Why do you think she’s uncomfortable?” Livy’s leading question is further evidence that she’s going to make a kickass lawyer one day.

  I scrub my hands down my face and groan.

  “Answer the question.”

  Yeah, definite lethal lawyer material. “Because I’m attracted to her.” Exasperation heats my tone.

  Livy gives me a disappointed look. “That ain’t why.”

  Wait. What?

  “Then why is she uncomfortable around me?”

  My roommate tsks like my lack of intellect is a damn shame. “‘Cause she’s attracted to you.”

  I feel my pulse in my dick.

  “H-how do you know?”

  Livy’s forehead wrinkles, and she gestures with an open palm around the room. “Hello? What is it you think I’m actually doing in here?”

  Putting a whole floor between her and Pen. Duh.

  “Wha—But—Well, why don’t you make a move?”

  Her brow arches like she’s got me on the stand about to confess. “Why don’t you?”

  The reasons crash down on my head like a load of bricks.

  Because we live together.

  Because she’s my landlady.

  Because she’s got a frickin’ kid.

  Because she’s not playing around.

  Because I’d let her down.

  Because I Iet everyone down.

  Livy’s right. I am as dumb as my box of rocks.

  And even though I realize it, my mind keeps reaching for that watermelon-sugar-high. ‘Cause she’s attracted to you.

  It rings true, and it feels fucking good. Stella is attracted to me.

  My breath deepens, and I sink back into the loveseat. A feeling in my chest makes itself known. It’s tucked beside that smug sense of triumph but sore like a bruise. Something I need to shield. And even though it now lives in my chest, it doesn’t belong to me.

  It’s Stella’s. Her feelings.

  Whatever part of her that pulls her toward me, I want to protect it.

  My unspoken reasons for not making a move? I’m sure they’re already on Stella’s list—probably alongside a few more.

  “Damn,” Livy mutters, jerking me from my thoughts. “I never seen somebody look so elated and crushed at the same time.”

  I open my mouth to respond but a door bangs open upstairs. “Hey!” Pen shouts from the top of the house. “Any y’all home?”

  Livy and I both shout back.

  “Who wants to help me carry some witchy wares down these stairs?”

  An hour later, Stella and Maisy get home to find that we’ve turned the near-empty dining room into a fall craft sweatshop.

  I say we, but, in reality, Livy, Tyler, and I have just been press ganged into Pen’s coven.

  By the look on Stella’s face, Pen didn’t quite convey the scope of her Samhain decorating plans. And, yes, I stand corrected—or hexed, not sure which—but every time I’ve said Halloween, Pen has thrown a ball of brown twine at my head.

  So it’s Samhain now. I probably can’t ever return to New Iberia—or church—again.

  “What’s going on, guys?” With an uncertain smile, Stella’s taking in the abundance of black paper, bundles of red, orange, black, and yellow tulle, and more sticks, twigs and floral wire than I’ve ever seen in one place.

  “I’ve erected three stations: the black crows—” Pen jabs a finger at the office supply dowel of black paper and the foam board cut-out of a menacing looking bird propped up in the corner. “Those are for the windows. The pentagram wreaths for the front door, our bedrooms, and the mailbox—” She points to the pile of fall-colored craft supplies, glue guns, and scissors on the formal dining table. “And, finally, the Weird sisters.”

  She points to the bales of twigs and the fabric that takes up a scary amount of the floor space.

  Stella blinks. “Did those sticks come from the back yard?”

  Pen lifts a knobby shoulder. “Some of them.”

  Stella stares.

  “I’ll clean up afterward.” Pen raises a hand like she’s taking an oath. “I promise.”

  “I’ll help,” Livy tacks on. For a heartbeat, the two women lock eyes and something staticky passes between them.

  “Good to know,” Stella mutters, still unable to take her eyes off the pile. She’s frowning like she’s trying to picture Pen’s intentions.

  I wave behind Pen’s back, getting Stella’s attention.

  Don’t question it, I mouth. I already have, and it won’t do any good. Three trips up and down to Pen’s attic, and I still don't understand how this is going to work.

  Stella must find something in my expression amusing because I watch her fight a smile. A real smile. I haven’t gotten one of those from her in a couple of weeks. This one makes my stomach flip.

  She looks back at Pen. “You’re the artist. I trust you.”

  Pen bounces on her toes and does a sorority clap. “It’s going to be so much fun.” Then she clasps her hands together. “Okay, let’s divide and conquer.”

  Just shy of actually barking orders, Pen directs Maisy and Tyler to the craft table and prototypes one pentagram wreath. It’s obvious she’s given this some thought because the tasks require Tyler to manipulate twine and wire and use the scissors and glue gun. Maisy’s job is to decorate the wreaths with little foam broomsticks, bats, and fall leaves. Tyler frowns suspiciously at Pen throughout the demo, but instead of refusing, he just grunts once and gets to work with his niece.

  “It’s a shame that Nina’s still at work,” Stella says, smiling at her family. “I bet she’d enjoy this.”

  Pen waves a dismissive hand. “Maisy and Tyler will make a nice wreath for her door. Don’t you worry.”

  At this, Tyler perks up.

  “Now—” Pen beckons Stella and me over to the corner. “You two will be cutting out the crows using this template. You can borrow my Xacto knives.”

  She waves two terrifying-looking blades and grabs the giant foam board crow. He’s all white, but that doesn’t make him any less scary. His beak opens in a wild caw, and the feathers on the back of his neck stand out in menace like he’s just left the set of a Hitchcock movie.

  With a deft hand, Pen shears off about three feet of black paper. She lays it on the floor, places the white crow on top, kneels down, and wields her craft knife like she’s Edward Scissorhands.

  “One of you can cut out the outline and the other can do the detail w
ork,” she explains as a gleaming bird eye emerges from the paper and light peeks under one wing to give the shape contrast. “Or you can work together, doing both at the same time.”

  I glance at Stella. She looks just as intimidated as I feel. Neither of us responds.

  Pen tsks. “Don’t be a couple of toadstools.”

  Toadstools?

  “Gimme a knife.” I say, holding out my hand. With a satisfied smile, Pen hands one to me and the other to Stella. Then she abandons us to the crows. Of course, Pen heads over to Livy for the big centerpiece, but who cares.

  I’m paired with Stella. I just wish she looked more excited about it.

  Instead of meeting my gaze, she glares at the Xacto knife in her hand. “I’m a lot better with a pair of scissors.”

  “We got this,” I say, kneeling down and setting Pen’s perfect black crow to the side.

  I’m pretty sure Stella deliberates about bailing for a solid five seconds, and then she rips a piece of paper and sets it down.

  I know I’m the reason she doesn’t want to dive in, and I regret that, but I’m glad for the chance to talk to her.

  Pen pairs her phone with a Bluetooth speaker she sets on the window sill, and the room fills with some kind of harp music. Weird, but not bad.

  I give the crow’s outline my undivided attention for less than a minute. I’m aware of Stella’s body beside me. The shape of her thighs as she kneels in those skinny jeans.

  Yes, she’s gorgeous. But she’s so much more than that.

  And I have missed her.

  It sounds stupid to say it. We live in the same house.

  But I have missed Stella.

  “You’ve been busy lately.” I speak softly, but with the harpistry coming from the speaker, I know only Stella can hear me.

  Stella doesn't look up from the crow eye she’s outlining. “I guess,” she says with a half-shrug.

  Before today, her distancing felt like a blast of icy wind. Now, a wave of tenderness washes over me.

  I want to make this easier for her.

  “Stella?”

  Saying her name feels like breathing crisp air. She looks up at me, startled. The green of her eyes is a place I want to emigrate to. I let myself hold her gaze a moment. And then I swallow and give what I’m allowed to give.

  “We’re friends, right?”

  She blinks, and I know this isn’t what she expected. “O-Of course.” But she says it too quickly.

  “Because if we’re not—” I look down and drag the blade of my knife around a wing tip, “I’d like to be.”

  I meet her eyes again and see hesitation.

  “And I know that’s all we should be.” I regret the words as soon as I say them. I hate that I’ve said them.

  But her eyes soften. Her whole posture softens.

  I’m not going to lie. The obvious relief hurts. But then she smiles. A real smile. And I breathe deep.

  “We are friends, Lark.”

  Then, as if I’ve broken a spell, she levels the wall she’s erected between us. “Sorry. I haven’t had a lot of male friends,” she confesses.

  “Because?” I lead, wanting to know and wanting to keep her talking. If friends is all we get to be, I want as much as I can get.

  To take the pressure off my question, I turn my gaze back to the splayed fingers of the crow’s wing.

  Stella sighs out a laugh. “Trust issues.”

  She says it like a joke, but I don’t think it’s funny. I remember our conversation about her days as a new mother—the ones she spent solo—and I smother a growl.

  “As a rule,” I say, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  Her laugh is cynical. “Is there a promise I’m missing in all this?” She gestures between us with the hand that holds the knife. It’s angular blade flashes like a warning.

  I nod, condemning myself to cold showers and making withdrawals from the spank bank. “I won’t cross any line you lay down.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  STELLA

  Am I dreaming, or did Lark just promise to keep us safely in the friend zone?

  Judging from that open, thoughtful expression on his face, he did.

  Which is great. Really.

  Except the first feeling that hits me is disappointment. Seriously heavy, wrecking-ball-esque disappointment.

  No, I’m relieved, I tell myself.

  I haven’t let myself be alone with Lark since I stood inches from him in nothing but my robe and panties. Ready to pounce on his mouth. After that close call, I felt like being near him was too risky.

  But now? He literally just came out and said we’re friends—and just friends. So I should be relieved. Because avoiding him has been a lot of work.

  And not so much fun.

  So I banish the disappointment and enjoy the fact that he’s my crow-crafting partner, even if his closeness makes my skin tingle, and he smells like a rocky waterfall.

  “She wants these in all the windows?” I ask in a cracked whisper and then swallow to combat the dryness in my throat.

  Lark shakes his head, carefully outlining creepy crow claws. “Just the ones at the front of the house.”

  “Phew.” I blow out a theatrical breath. “I can’t say I was too excited about the prospect of having these in my bedroom windows.”

  The mention of my bedroom awakens something in Lark’s eyes, but he quickly nods. “Same. Me, you, Maisy, and Nina are off the hook,” Lark says, naming all the bedrooms that line the rear of the house.

  I glance over at Pen and Livy, who have made three child-sized stacks of the sticks and twigs. “What’s the likelihood those’ll be used for bonfires in my front yard?”

  Grinning, Lark looks over his shoulder, giving me a choice view of his throat and his sex-me-sexy profile.

  My breath stalls in my lungs.

  Being this close to him again… Well, it’s hard to pretend I don’t feel things.

  And not just the urge to lick his neck. Yeah, there’s that. Big time. But Lark is so warm. So funny. Being with him is just easy. Welcome. I could just sit here all night.

  “Either that, or we’re all going to be burned at the stake,” Lark says, snickering. He looks back at me, and I give thanks that my tongue hasn’t fallen out of my mouth. “Is she like this every Halloween?”

  I quickly pull myself together.

  “Samhain,” I whisper in warning. “Yes, just not to this degree. I think living in this old, rambling house instead of her loft apartment has notched it up a few levels.”

  Lark is mid-laugh when his phone rings. We both see Nina’s name flash across the screen, and our eyes meet as he answers.

  “Hey, Nina. What’s up?”

  Is it just me or did the rest of the room go quiet? Pen’s Celtic folk music seems louder by contrast.

  “He’s there? In the restaurant?”

  My blood runs cold, and I’m not imagining it. Everyone is listening. Pen cuts off the Bluetooth.

  “Nina, everybody’s here. Can I put you on speaker?”

  She must say yes because he pulls the phone from his ear and taps the screen.

  Nina’s voice is shaking. “He’s outside. Parked across the street. Right in front of the doors.”

  As she’s spoken, everyone has moved closer. Tyler steps between me and Lark, and lowers into a squat, his face a war mask.

  “Is he within a hundred feet?” Livy asks.

  On Wednesday, Nina filed a temporary protective order against her ex. I know because I took her to the Clerk of Courts office. When Maggie was here, she helped Nina fill out the application, but Nina couldn’t bring herself to file it until this week.

  Which means that fuckwad Kaleb probably was served the order yesterday or today.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “You can call the police,” Livy says, to which Nina audibly groans.

  “Aggie says she thinks he’s more than a hundred feet away.”

  “That reptile,” Pen mutters. />
  Maisy comes around to my other side and presses her body against me. “What’s happening, Mama?”

  Her eyes are wide. She’s definitely picking up on the tension in the room. I stand and take my daughter by the hand.

  “C’mon. Let’s go into the kitchen and get everyone a snack.”

  But before I reach the door, Nina’s voice pitches. “Stella? What should I do?”

  She’s asking me?

  Tyler bolts up and reels on me, jaw clenched. “We… ge...t… he...r.”

  Lark stands too. “Nina, I’m on my way.”

  Tyler whips around, squaring off with Lark. “No.”

  My jaw drops. “Tyler, what are you doing? He’s trying to help.”

  Pen sidles up and takes Maisy’s hand from me. “Here, Suga, Mama’s got to referee. Why don’t you, me, and Lady Livy get busy on those snacks.”

  “Wait—” I protest, glancing rapidly from Maisy to Tyler to Lark to Pen.

  My best friend grips my shoulder with her free hand, her amber eyes radiating wisdom and calm. Either that, or she’s hypnotizing me. “We got this. You go on with the menfolk. Keep them from doing anything too dumb.”

  I don’t know whether to laugh or sob, so I nod instead. Once she and Livy wisk Maisy into the kitchen, I get in my brother’s face. He’s still glaring at Lark.

  “Lark drives. I ride shotgun. You’ll sit in the back with Nina.”

  Tyler’s nostrils flare, but he nods, accepting this compromise. Even as we head to Lark’s Jeep, I let myself acknowledge this milestone. My brother is no less rattled and panicked than I am—knowing that he feels something for Nina, he’s probably more so. But he’s able to listen to reason.

  That’s a big step for him.

  Still, the way Lark tears out of the driveway, I know we all feel a sense of urgency. Good thing Scratch Kitchen isn’t far. The drive gives me just enough time to imagine what could happen if Lark and Tyler have a run-in with Nina’s ex.

  Before we turn onto Garfield Street, I close my eyes and send up a prayer that Kaleb the Shitbag isn’t a gun owner.